Never say Goodbye
by Spellb0und
Summary: The last thing John had said to his son was that he was selfish. [Limp!Sam, and angst galore.]


Never say Goodbye (½)

_Author--_Spellb0und//Corie

_Rating--_T

This was written for RockaliciousSammyfan over at SFTCOL(AR)S who wanted to see Sam rebeling against John and for him to get hurt hunting, thus he has to think over his relationship with his youngest. Hopefully it's alright! Enjoy!

_Disclaimer--_blah, blah, blah not mine.

How did it come down to this? How do things get this bad?

Who allows this to happen?

These were only a few of the thoughts that ran through John Winchester's mind as he stroked his son's lifeless hand, trying to see past the grayish hue his boy had taken on. The deep purple ring stood out around his neck. How small his fifteen year old looked--noting like the almost six foot tall powerhouse that was his Sammy. Full of life and fire, he had that stubbornness which he had obviously taken from his father. His baby. He couldn't. He couldn't see anything but lay before him, the machines and monitors and _Sam_.

The ventilator was his least favorite, John decided. The _whoosh_ and _click _that kept his youngest breathing as he could do not do on his own seemed louder than anything else. Hell, that was the only movement that Sam had made since arriving two days before, an automated rise and fall of his chest. And that long tube which had been placed in his mouth, down his throat, oh how he wanted _to rip it out_. It shouldn't have to be there. John remembered watching them put it in, his boy hadn't even gagged which was a testament as to just how gone he was. But his boy would die without it giving him the oxygen that he was unable to provide on his own and there wasn't anything he could do about it. And, well Sam never listened when John gave him an order, anyways.

Sitting next to him, his other son would not catch his eye. Not for the two days that the two Winchester men all gathered in a small hospital room, around the bedside to watch their world, their life and one source of joy deteriorate before their very eyes. _Their Sammy_. Dean hardly said two words, unless it was hounding the nurses or doctors that came in every now and then to check on Sam and change the bedding…ect, ect…

John knew that Dean to some extent blamed himself for this, and despite trying to tell him otherwise, the way his son would respond, he could tell that it was not getting through to his oldest. Dean had taken care of Sam, since he was four and carried him out of that fire. It was he who placed the infant in his young arms all those years ago, and Dean hadn't relinquished his grip since, and John never fought for it. Dean knew more about Sammy then he did, took care of him…everything. He had the feeling that Sam was fighting for two lives, not just for himself, but Dean's as well. If Sam were to pass, then Dean would cease to exist…

No. John shook these thoughts away, grasping his boy's hand tighter, he would live. He would live because he was a Winchester and by blood stubborn, hard headed and unwilling to take no for an answer. He would not die.

_What had he done?_

--

_Two days prior…_

A routine hunt. A demon that lurked in the woods, killing lost travelers. Stringing them up in the tall trees, leaving their loved ones to find them. Leaving no traces of being dragged throughout…the police were baffled. How could someone climb up so high? Twenty feet was a task when the forest was so thick and dark. How could someone carry a body--gagged and bound like that so high?

That's where the Winchesters came into the picture. An amazing amount of research in the library, lead by his youngest who apparently was a pro when it to this part of the job, and lots of prep work on John and Dean's part. Because honestly, the two of them really weren't library made and would much rather check the equipment and guns.

--

Sam was angry/livid/furious/stewing in the backseat of the Impala. John and Dean could feel the hazel rays piercing the back of their head. If those eyes could shoot lasers, if they could kill, then John would be dust in the wind.

But Sam knew they had a responsibility to the family, to the hunt and to the lives they save. And yes, it was too much to give him tonight off because of the fact that he had a game to play. John had told him not to go out for a soccer team. Did he listen? Of course not. He had to go out for this waste of his talent and precious time. Dean had never been like this.

After an argument that had rattled the windows of their rented apartment, the three of the departed into the deep woods. The car ride seemed to take _hours_. The only sound was the music that played lightly over the speakers. Occasionally John would say something and Dean respond, but Sam remained silent and continued staring out the window at the passing landscape.

Championship game. They'd made it all the way and he couldn't even be a part of the victory. And what if Melissa Parker was there? He did tell her he would be at the party afterward…sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest and rested his head on the seat--eying the ceiling. He thought of her hair, and her smile, imagined her standing up and cheering for them. For _him_ as they took the title. Just the thought that he could be there, when instead of he was here, stuck on a hunt he was _positive_ that they didn't need him for. Dad and Dean were perfectly capable of handing this on their own, he'd already helped a ton with all the research.

Dean risked a quick glance at his kid brother. Sam was still sulking, obviously. Shaking his head, he continued looking out the window. He had been playing mediator between his father and brother all today whilst the explosion took place. It took a hell of a lot to make Dean back down, but he had felt like throwing in that towel and letting the two of them go at it.

It had been like this since his brother turned fourteen. Sam questioned his father's authority often, even before this point. But in the past year it had began to escalate into full blown shouting matches. And it was only a matter of time before one of them snapped and came out swinging. If he hadn't stepped in today, who knew how far it would have gone? He didn't understand any of this. Their whole life, they had hunted, moved--why wasn't he used to this by now? Why did he insist on this normalcy? Why was Sam so intent on mediocre novelties such as soccer and homework--when in all honesty Dean would take the hunt over that boring lifestyle.

"Get your gear, Sam. You're coming with me. Dean, you know what to do." All three men left their thoughts behind as the engine of the car stopped.

They were on the edge of the woods, the sky had begun to darken around them. Sam pulled his jacket tighter around his slim frame as he exited the car. It was actually quite a nice view, the way it all contrasted. Of course, _they_ wouldn't see that.

Something was definitely wrong here. Behind the beauty of it all, something felt off. Anger lurked in the darkness of the woods, all three of them felt it. Feel it pulling at them. It was thick and almost tangible, they'd have to be careful, as the spirit knew it was there that was for damn sure. If they were correct, though, no one would ever have to die here again.

The trunk of the classic car slammed, and Sam took one last long look at the darkening sky, trying to ignore all feelings of dread and followed his father.

TBC…

_More family drama coming up, my friends! And, well--you guessed it! Limp! Yeah, let me know what you think, yes?_


End file.
